


you’re my blood sport

by ArwenAileon



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: 23rd timeline, M/M, beast!Quentin, ghost!Eliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 12:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14165295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenAileon/pseuds/ArwenAileon
Summary: There’s a sense of curiosity, pulling Quentin in. He doesn’t fully understand it, as he only remembers bits and pieces of what it was like to have feelings, but there’s something in his chest that demands him to go closer towards Eliot's ghost.





	you’re my blood sport

**Author's Note:**

> Since apparently I can't stop getting into AUs for Queliot, here's one from [timeline 23](http://noe-gg.tumblr.com/tagged/23rd-timeline) born from a bunch of conversations on Tumblr about it.

Brakebills’ library, once so colorful and alive, now looks bleak. Where students had been chatting and comparing notes there are cobwebs and pages ripped from the now useless books about magic. And while Quentin walks by the toppled over shelves, he thinks to himself that he likes it more that way. He was never a big fan of people back when he was alive and with his shade. It defeated the purpose of having a calm place where to read and hushed whispers were still a sign of people and noise, no matter how quiet they tried to be.

His job there had been over for a long time already. There's no one left at Brakebills anymore. Every magician in campus had run away or died at his hand- or both, because no one could really outrun him for long. The lack of magic made everyone less of a threat and it would be easy to ignore them and just stay in Fillory. But with the visions the key around his neck had given him still fresh in his mind, he doesn't want to risk anything ruining what he had built for himself.

There really was no reason to be in that library and yet there's still something that kept catching his attention. Or rather, someone. If the term someone could even be applied to a ghost, but then again he isn’t much of a someone himself either.

He sees Eliot and Margo talking, stuck in that endless loop where they die and die over again. He sees them disappear for a moment and then sees Eliot showing up again, bloody and broken and only able to say almost like a prayer that he messed up.

Usually Quentin takes that as his cue to leave. He’s stayed long enough a few times to know that sometimes Eliot’s ghost would get stuck there for hours until he simply disappeared, only to come back later with Margo and start their personal hellish loop all over again. He should, by all means, leave. There’s nothing else for him to see there. Except there’s a sense of… curiosity, pulling him in. He doesn’t fully understand it, as he only remembers bits and pieces of what it was like to have feelings, but there’s something in his chest that demands him to go closer towards Eliot.

After he’s sure that the loop is nowhere close to restarting, he moves from his hiding place and lowers himself to Eliot’s eye level once he’s close enough.

Quentin watches closely as his friend’s eyes continue to be out of focus, erratic. Ghosts sometimes take their time in snapping from their personal demons enough to notice that they aren’t alone anymore. And when Eliot finally does notice him, Quentin can’t help but smile in amusement at his reaction.

His eyes go wide as soon as they focus on him, he stops shaking. Then his expression changes from surprise to a frown. Quentin is sure that the unnatural blue glow that his eyes have now must be unsettling for him. He knows he’s a far cry from the nerdy and awkward first year boy Eliot had known. It’s almost like he doesn’t understand what he’s seeing, as if the numbers simply didn’t add up.

“Quentin…?” His tone is full of unsaid questions that the other man has no intention of answering. He’s more interested in picking off Margo’s earring off Eliot’s shoulder, still attached to a small bit of her ear.

“Look at the mess you made.” Quentin doesn’t miss the flinch on Eliot’s face at his words, nor the pained low gasp that escapes him when he throws the earring away. “That was one of her favorites, wasn’t it? What a pity.”

“Q, stop. Whatever it is you’re doing? Not funny.”

“But it is fun.” He gives Eliot a half assed shrug as he smirks. “For me, at least.”

They stare at each other for what feels like hours, an unspoken challenge between them. One neither of them is sure what it’s for. Eliot’s hazel eyes look at him with a mix of defiance, but also fear and… amazement, perhaps? He’s not sure, and yet he feels his stomach turn in a way it hasn’t in a long time because of it. It’s excitement surrounded by a hunger he had no idea he could still have.

Quentin licks his lips absent-mindedly, a habit he had picked up for when he’s too deep in his own thoughts. He catches Eliot’s eyes leaving his to stare down at then, and that’s when he knows he’s won whatever this game they were playing was.

With one quick movement, he grabs the back of the ghost’s neck and pulls him close enough to roughly crash his lips against his in a hungry kiss. He feels Eliot tense up and yelp in surprise because, if they were both being honest, this is something his old self would’ve never done. But Quentin is different now- if there’s something he wants, he’s going to take it. And right now it’s Eliot who he wants. Even if he can’t fully comprehend why.

Eliot, who’s still somewhat tense, and who after a couple of seconds puts his hands on Quentin’s shoulders, touching him gently and trying to get him to slow down, trying to push him away. The Beast answers by doing a quick gesture with his free hand, a spell that moves Eliot’s arms over his head and pins them against the bookcase behind him.

“I thought this is what you wanted. Since basically the day we met, if memory serves me right.” As he speaks, Quentin moves his legs so that he’s straddling Eliot. He smirks when he feels a growing hardness against his. And while that does get a groan out of Eliot, he’s surprised when he takes a moment to look at him and sees the sad look in his eyes. “You should be thankful. I’m even getting my clothes covered in blood for you. Because you messed up and are stuck like this.”

“Not like this, Q.” Bringing back his mistake doesn’t have the same effect this time. Eliot has that same look on his face and it’s almost like he pities Quentin. How he ended up, what he is… And he hates it. For a moment he wishes it was possible to kill ghosts twice so that he can snap his neck in two.

Instead, he moves the hand that was on the back of his neck up. Just enough to grab a handful of Eliot’s hair and pull hard. With his neck now fully exposed, Quentin moves closer to lick the blood off its side. It earns him a sharp inhale from the other man- and it’s a relief, because it means he’s not talking anymore. And when Quentin looks up as best as he can while still sucking on Eliot’s neck, he’s pleased to see that he has his eyes closed and his mouth open in a breathless moan.

Good, he thinks. It means he can’t look at him that way anymore. And if this is all it takes to accomplish it, he’d gladly do it as many times as it takes. There was a certain thrill to this, one he’d never experienced when he was alive, one he couldn’t exactly put a name to. He grinds down against Eliot again and this time he can’t help the low, guttural groan that escapes him. It’s clouded by Eliot’s moan, though, and for some reason (because he doesn’t have a shade anymore, he’s not supposed to feel things) there’s a sense of accomplishment bubbling inside him for causing it in the first place.

It doesn’t last long. Quentin feels a shift in the air, the magic that ties both Eliot and Margo to their loop signaling its imminent restart.

Reluctantly, he pulls away from Eliot’s neck. Against his best judgement, he decides to kiss him on the lips one last time, letting him taste the copper of his own blood left over in Quentin’s lips. He breaks it as soon as Eliot starts moving his hips against him, clearly into it.

“Time’s up.” The corner of his mouth twists into a smile at the whimper Eliot makes when he stands up, as if nothing had happened. He straightens his suits and does a quick spell to clean off the blood, then another one to unpin Eliot’s hands off the bookcase. “I’d say be good and wait for me here, but I know you can’t say no to that, so where’s the fun in even saying it in the first place. Right?”

Eliot looks awestruck, all disvellehed against the bookcase. It’s clear he’s still going through it all, his brown furrowing slightly as he tries to make sense out of it. The sight makes Quentin smirk and feel amused by it as he simply turns around and waves at him over his shoulder, without turning back.


End file.
